


Overheated

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 13:36:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15558876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: Dean tries to find a way to beat the heat





	Overheated

**Author's Note:**

> Look, sometimes you just need pointless smut in a peaceful, happy universe, for one of your favourite pairings. I don't know what else you want from me.

It’s the hottest summer on record.

At least, that’s what they keep saying on the news; and Dean’s not about to argue.  He’s been watching the mercury climb without stopping for weeks, waiting to wake up one day on the actual surface of the sun; and he hates winter, he really does - the bite of the cold wind on face, chapped lips, the aching pain in fingers left exposed to the elements - but probably the worst part of it all for Dean (aside from Sam’s contant bellyaching about climate change and the end of the habitable planet) is that there are only so many layers of clothing a person can take off before somebody calls the police.

In public, anyway.  In private, it’s a whole other ball game.

_ Wow _ , Dean thinks, and not for the first time.  Not even the hundredth time.

Granted, Dean is a little stunned by Cas basically every day (mostly by the way he continues to be willing to put up with Dean and all his bullshit.  Not that Dean will ever admit to being that much of a sap or anything) but the sight of Cas, stretched out on the bed - their bed - with no covers and no clothes, lit only by what murky, evening light can sneak through the gaps in the curtains; that’s - yeah, that’s enough to bring Dean up a little bit short, with a kick to the chest for a finisher that leaves him leaning against the doorframe.

He’s still breathing a little too heavy when Cas opens one eye, cracks a half-smile, and rasps softly, “Dean.”

Yeah, it’s enough to make a guy weak in the knees.

“Hey, Cas,” his voice  _ doesn’t _ come out as a strained croak, but it’s a very near thing.  “You - uh - enjoying yourself?”

Cas stretches, long and languid, smothers a yawn as Dean smothers the urge to rub a hand against the crotch of his jeans.  “I was in the garden all morning,” Cas says, drowsily. “I needed a nap.”

Now that his eyes have adjusted to the low light, Dean can tell that he’s seen just a little too much sun; there’s colour that’s more red than pink spread across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, dappled over his shoulders.  Cas stretches his dowsy smile just a little bit further and beckons Dean closer.

Dean chuckles, shakes his head, though his palms itch.  “C’mon Cas, I’m disgusting.”

He smells like the garage - oil, transmission fluid, and a hit of gasoline under a thick layer of the sweat generated by heavy, hot work - and there’s grime on him everywhere.  Some of it never quite goes away no matter how much he scrubs (and no, that’s not a metaphor, it’s just the truth.)

“I don’t mind,” Cas says, motioning him forward again; and Dean feels himself being drawn into the room like Cas has a grip on a rope, tied somewhere right around his belly-button.  Dean steps over the rug, crawls his way up onto the bed, overtop of Cas, one stretch of his aching arms at a time. The immediate change in the air temperature in the space between their bodies is intense, but not quite unpleasant.

“It’s too hot for this,” Dean warns, as Cas leans up for a kiss; and it is, but it’s also  _ nice.   _ Dean’s a sucker for the slow stuff, the catch and slide of Cas’ lips against his own, the little, panting breaths, and Cas’ fingers slipping up under his shirt, tracing along the sweat-slicked trench that marks Dean’s spine.  He’s content to stay just like this, one messy hand in Cas’ equally messy hair, the other stroking Cas’ hip while Cas slowly, languorously, rubs himself off on the worn-soft leg of Dean’s work jeans. He only knows Cas comes by the soft sigh of his breath and the way he arches, just slightly, against the mattress.

“Better?” Dean laughs, leaving off Cas’ mouth to kiss his neck, instead, where he still has the chemical coconut tang of sunscreen soaked into his skin.

“Much better,” Cas agrees, far too fucking smug, considering that Dean’s about to blow in his jeans if he moves  _ just right _ .

Cas rugs at Dean’s shirt collar, takes his nails - lovingly and torturously - through the hair at the back of Dean’s skull, sending shivery jolts of pleasure all down Dean’s spine that only make his pants situation more urgent.  The heat is also creeping in, making his jeans chafe, his shirt catch uncomfortably around his shoulders.

“I was going to make dinner for us,” Cas says, mournfully, his fingers still doing their playful tickle-scratching that makes Dean want to sob.  “I had it all planned. Then I went and had a nap.”

“Takeout,” Dean  says, plainly. He tries to get at the button on his jeans, but his fingers are hopelessly slippery.  “It's too hot to cook."  It's almost too hot to think.  "Shower and takeout.”

“And a blowjob?” Cas suggests, with that quirk of a smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Chist,” Dean breathes, knowing he sounds more than a little desperate and not caring at all.  He kisses Cas and all he can taste is sweat, all he can feel is heat. It’s terrible and fucking perfect at the same time.  “Would you?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

-End-


End file.
